


A Friendly Wager

by Redamber79



Series: The Commander & The Altus [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Cullen Rutherford, Bisexual Cullen Rutherford, Biting, Bottom Dorian Pavus, Cassandra Pentaghast Ships It, Cullen Has Issues, Dammit Jim, Dorian Has Issues, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Jimterruption, Light Angst, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prostate Massage, Scratching, Strip Games, Top Cullen Rutherford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 10:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14283087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redamber79/pseuds/Redamber79
Summary: Dorian and Cullen get together for a friendly, flirty game of cards. Doesn't mean anything, Dorian knows.  After all, Cullen is straight.  Isn't he?





	A Friendly Wager

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by an amazing piece by oriental-lady on Tumblr. Nsfw page, fair warning. 
> 
> https://oriental-lady.tumblr.com/post/146572227192/you-won-again-commander-w-wait-you-dont
> 
> All errors are mine, this has not been beta'd, and was written on my phone.

“Do prepare yourself, my dear Commander. It's inevitable that I win,” Dorian declared with an airy wave of one bejeweled hand, the long fingers strong and graceful. He sorted his cards deftly, flicking the cards into the order he preferred as he thought out his attack.

Cullen gave a low chuckle and smirked at the mage.

"I hope you're better at cards than at chess, Altus Pavus,” he grinned cheekily, their frequent matches having gained a certain infamy throughout Skyhold. Dorian's eyebrows flew up in a look of perfect aristocratic disdain, but his eyes twinkled, and he toyed with his moustache to cover a smile.

“Care to make a friendly wager of it?” Cullen dared.

“Challenge accepted, Commander. Shall we discuss the stakes?” the mage asked, his thumb twirling a ring on his forefinger absently as he reviewed his cards. Cullen watched the fidgeting and hid a smile behind his mug of ale. His shrewd tactician's mind was assessing his opponent carefully, watching for any weakness. Dorian smiled urbanely, and raised his wine goblet to his lips.

“I should simply hate to see you lose your shirt again,” he chuckled and took a sip before continuing. “Much less the rest of your clothing.” His tone was coy and teasing, but his eyes gleamed at the memory of the Commander running bare for his tower.

He expected a blush, as the man usually reacted to such teasing, and was left momentarily speechless when Cullen simply smirked.

“Well, if we start the betting with clothing, that puts you at something of a disadvantage then, does it not?” His eyes flicked over Dorian's usual attire, and he met the mage's eyes with a hooded glance. “After all, you have far less than I to remove.”

Dorian lifted his glass to his lips again to buy himself a moment. Had he read that look correctly? Had the Commander’s gaze lingered just a moment on the bare shoulder, his chest? No, though the Commander sometimes flirted back casually, as far as he knew, Cullen was attracted to women. He was, however, a tactician, and knew Dorian's preferences lay with his own gender. He was simply attempting to rattle him. Dorian was a mage of Tevinter, a son of House Pavus of Minrathous, and had been taught from his childhood the game of politics. Cards were never an issue, he reminded himself. With a partially feigned lustful eye designed to rattle his opponent, he raked a glance over the Commander’s form. He started at the copper-brushed eyes, paused at the scarred lip, to the breadth of his shoulders, to the trim waist, to the leather-clad thighs thick with muscle from years astride. He decided against licking his lips, though it was a near thing; the Commander was an exceedingly attractive man. Dorian let his voice drop, and slowed his words as he leaned forward, meeting his opponent's eyes again. He noted the lightly flushed cheeks with amusement, though he showed no trace.

“The question remains, my dear Commander. What shall our wager be?” He raised his goblet again, and took a large mouthful. The ruby wine stained his lips for a moment before he swiped it away with the tip of his tongue, and he bit back a triumphant grin as the Commander flushed slightly more.

Cullen watched the mage flirt blatantly, and knew he was simply trying to throw him off their game. Cards were far less strategic than chess, more about reading your opponent to guess at his hand, and feinting, or bluffing, about your own. Dorian was a skilled politician in his own way, with a mask of permanent amusement that rarely slipped. Cullen saw the man's gaze pause at his lips on its downward track, and he set out his plan of attack. He listened to Dorian’s voice drop from its usual light tenor, and acknowledged its affect on his own pulse. The Commander had a will of steel, he'd never have survived the lyrium withdrawal elsewise, but Maker, that mage could stir a stone. Cullen was no stone where Dorian was concerned. When the mage licked the drops of wine from his lips, Cullen felt the blush that was the curse of his Ferelden complexion warm his cheeks. Not willing to concede a victory so easily, Cullen stood, and removed his familiar furred coat. Dorian eyed him with speculation, and Cullen hid a smirk by raising his gloved hands to pull them loose with his teeth. Dorian's expression didn't change, but Cullen saw the man's pupils widen slightly, and filed the information away. He would emerge the victor of their little game.

“Are you feeling overheated, my dear Commander?” Dorian queried, glad that his olive complexion hid the flush he could feel warming his cheekbones. He bit his tongue lightly to keep from further commentary as he watched the blond nip at the fingertips of his leather gloves to pull them loose, his teeth catching the seams to tug them off. Dorian's mind stuttered as he tried to remember the last time he'd seen Cullen without his gloves, much less his coat. The night they'd all played Wicked Grace in the tavern sprang to his mind again, and though his expression remained one of casual amusement, he could feel the wine heating his blood. He raised the goblet again almost defiantly, knowing his tongue would loosen as he grew more inebriated, and nearly choked when the Commander stepped back from the table to remove his breastplate.

Dorian cleared his throat, and raised a sardonic brow when Cullen turned to look at him, his fingers moving quickly and neatly over the buckles on his breastplate. Cullen simply smiled knowingly as he removed the last pieces of armour and padding, and set them aside on a spare chair by the fire. He turned slightly as he rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms above his head with his fingers clasped. Dorian vaguely heard the POP of the Commander’s spine, followed by a low groan of relief, but he was distracted by the play of muscle under the light linen shirt, the relief of the man's profile against the fireplace. The soldier turned toward him, the firelight glinting gold in his hair as he strode back to the table. Rather than return to his chair though, he stopped next to Dorian's.

Cullen's voice was low and rasping suddenly, and Dorian felt it register in his gut before he heard the words spoken.

“Something you'd like?”

Dorian's breathing hitched a moment as he looked up at the Commander of the Inquisition, somehow more real in a linen shirt and trews than in his armour and that ridiculous coat. Cullen set his hand on the back of the mage's chair, and leaned down slowly.

“Altus Pavus? Another goblet of wine, perhaps? Or shall we get on with our game?”

Dorian cursed himself for a fool, knowing the Commander was playing him, but he was falling for it anyway. He leaned back in his chair as he gazed up at the taller man, and shook his head.

“Not for the moment, thank you. Now mind you, I'm not complaining about the view, but is there a reason you're divesting yourself of your clothing for me?”

Cullen gave a low chuckle, still leaning over the mage, and trailed a heated gazed over the seated man much as he'd been surveilled earlier. Dorian swallowed carefully, willing himself not to react.

“Simply evening the field,” the Commander answered, gesturing a callused hand to the low table with their cards still waiting for the first hand to be played. He straightened, and moved back to his chair, craning his neck back and forth as he went. Something cracked audibly, and he gave a sigh of pleasure as he sat.

“I miss few things about the Circle. Easy access to a heated bath is one,” he declared, wincing as he rolled his neck slightly. Dorian returned his attention to his cards, reaching for a pastry absently.

“You did choose your tower. The baths haven't moved since we came to this drafty heap,” the mage quipped, biting into the pastry with a decadent moan of pleasure. He closed his eyes in pure bliss, thus missing the look the Commander gave him across the table.

Cullen cleared his throat, and commented lightly, “Yes, well… I've had enough time spent in barracks and dormitories, I’ve earned my privacy. Besides this is closest to the gate, and central to all. I can be found when I'm needed, and I'm not hovering over my soldiers when I'm not. They know what is allowed, what is forbidden, and what hovers between the two.”

Dorian’s mouth twisted, his own upbringing telling him what the forbidden was.

“Ah yes, can't have any corrupted morals among the troops, of course,” he commented bitingly.

Cullen looked up from his cards to see the frown on the mage's face, and shook his head.

“Dorian… this is not Tevinter.”

He leaned forward and set his cards facedown on the table, trying to get his friend to look at him. The hurt in the man's eyes troubled Cullen, causing an unpleasant swoop in his stomach, and he spoke softly to allay that hurt.

“Forbidden is rape, theft, beatings, drug use, and chronic drunkenness. The troops may find their pleasure where they wish, provided precautions are taken against pregnancy and disease. And if pregnancy happens, well, that's up to that soldier to decide whether to keep the babe or not. Light duties are available, and accommodations can be made. But many prefer to avoiding risking that complication, and simply… make friends in the barracks. After all, nothing wrong with having a bit of fun. And no need for secrecy unless the individuals so desire.”

Dorian stared at the earnest man before him, his cards forgotten in his hand.

“You say it so easily, as though this is to be expected.” He shook his head, and ran his fingers through his hair, disheveling his sable locks from their usual coiffed perfection. He reached for his goblet again, draining the dregs. Cullen stared at his friend, the faraway gaze and slight thoughtful frown lending him a serious air, the hair dropping into his eyes giving him almost a boyish look.

“It was the norm in my dormitory in the Ferelden Circle when I was a recruit, so long as we stayed away from the mages, and was the same in Kirkwall’s tower. Of course, as a ranking officer there, I'd head to the Rose. Too few officers to avoid complications there, and Meredith…” he shuddered at his last memories of his commanding officer. “Well, she was a hard woman. Less understanding that certain desires did not simply vanish with rank.”

Cullen shook himself to dispel the gruesome image of Kirkland's statue, and turned his thoughts to his days as a Templar recruit. He smiled softly, his eyes far away, and Dorian felt a pang at whatever memory had brought such a look to the Commander's face.

“The Circle was less understanding of pregnancies in the ranks, so rather than risk that, Ali and I decided to avoid any chance.” Cullen shrugged his broad shoulders uncomfortably. “That is something we're doing better than the Templar order, no doubt. There, if a recruit became pregnant it was solely her fault, and she was dismissed. I'll not allow that here,” he declared, reaching for his cards again. “Shall we play?”

Dorian shook his head slowly, not in denial of the suggestion, but simply to absorb the information he'd heard. At first it had sounded like Cullen himself had found a friend, but he and this Ali, another recruit he supposed, had decided not to get involved to avoid pregnancy. Dorian glanced at his cards again, and selected one with graceful fingers. He tossed it onto the table with a flick of his wrist, smirking as it landed almost dead centre. Cullen raised an eyebrow at the manoeuvre, and selected his own card.

The cards were traded back and forth in companionable silence for several minutes, before Cullen mused softly, “I wonder how Ali is doing?”

Dorian let out a querying sound, and Cullen met his glance, somewhat startled. He hadn't realised he'd spoken aloud.

“I take it you were close with this Ali?” Dorian asked curiously, wondering if this was a grand romance of the Commander's past.

“Well, yes, we were best of friends. Ali is a year older than I, but was constantly getting into trouble. Nothing mean-spirited, simply a mischievous streak a mile wide. And somehow I'd always end up dragged along.” Cullen chuckled fondly, and poured himself another tankard from the small cask set on a side table.

“Is? So you've stayed in touch then,” Dorian commented as he eyed his cards carefully. He knew this hand could go either way, and he refused to be distracted.

“Somewhat, though distance makes life difficult, and we both have busy lives.” Cullen's eyes went distant again, and he chuckled softly. “Has Varric told you of his pirate friend Isabela?”

Dorian raised a brow at the change of topic and nodded, placing his next card carefully.

“She was a terror in Kirkwall, constantly causing trouble for the guard, hunted by the Qunari, sneaking in and out of the Gallows through the tunnels I wasn't supposed to know about…” Cullen dropped his next card on the table before continuing. “I caught her the once, and we got to talking. Turns out she'd met Ali in Denerim years earlier, near the end of the Blight.”

“Your friend? The same Templar? What are the odds of that?” the mage chuckled. “Are you certain she wasn't having you on, to gain sympathy?”

Cullen shrewdly eyed the dark-haired man over his tankard, timing his words carefully. As Dorian reached for his cards, the soldier spoke softly.

“No, she described in detail this manoeuvre Ali could do with his tongue, I remember it well.” Cullen smirked in satisfaction as the mage froze. “Besides, no one really forgets tupping the man who became king of Ferelden. I certainly haven't.”

Dorian's eyes flew to Cullen's bronze gaze, and the mage dropped a card absently on the table. Cullen held his gaze for a moment longer, letting the tension between them build, before smirking down at the table.

“Well, this hand is mine.” Dorian's eyes flicked from the table to his remaining cards, and he let out a curse.

“Fasta vass! Well played, Commander. I see I'll have to be on my guard with you, if you can spin a tale like that so believably.” He dropped his remaining cards on the table in disgust, and reached for his purse.

“Altus Pavus, I don't believe those were the stakes,” Cullen reminded him with a growl that went straight to the mage's cock.

Affecting an offended glare, Dorian met the Commander's eyes. Two could play that game. He uncoiled from where he lounged in his chair, sitting up to slowly release the buckles on his shirt, and allowed the fabric to fall loosely from the left shoulder, flashing a glimpse of olive skin. He reached down and grasped the hem of his shirt, and slowly pulled it over his head. Though his face was concealed under the fabric, he heard a muttered “Maker!” from across the table as his torso was revealed. His lips curled in a triumphant smile, knowing he was affecting the man before him. He tossed the shirt across the table, and caught the Commander staring, even as he caught it reflexively. The blond blushed and looked away, but not before Dorian saw the blazing heat in his eyes. Well, well, Dorian thought to himself.

“Do take care of that, it's a favourite, and I don't believe it would fit those shoulders in any case.”

Cullen's chuckle rolled through Dorian's frame, causing him to shiver slightly, and his nipples stood at attention. Luckily the chill of the evening air in Skyhold was a perfect excuse for his body’s reaction.

“Come now, my dear Commander. Time for the next hand. We'll see how this one goes.”

He shrugged his shoulders, knowing the firelight would dance across his swarthy skin. He shifted his chair slightly closer to the fireplace, and turned his chest toward its warmth, and Dorian heard the barest intake of breath as Cullen noticed the rings piercing his nipples. Dorian leaned forward, allowing the rings to sway lightly away from his body, then purred softly.

“Was there something you wanted, Cullen?”

Dorian watched as his rare use of the Commander's first name registered, and it was glorious. Cullen fumbled the deck of cards, and a flush flew across his cheeks at Dorian’s words. Dorian cocked his head, knowing the tilt exposed his neck temptingly. Cullen's eyes dropped to his pulse, and Dorian nearly whimpered at the predatory glance he was given. Dorian leaned further forward, reaching a graceful arm across the table. He smirked at the golden man watching him breathlessly, and scooped up the Commander’s tankard. He raised the mug to his lips, then paused and glanced down at the ale. He let a spark of magic flow through his fingers, chilling the metal and the bitter ale within, then took a long drink. Placing the tankard back on the table, he held out his hand, palm up.

“My deal, yes?” he challenged in a low, sultry tone.

Cullen exhaled hard, and handed over the deck. Their fingers touched briefly, and Dorian felt his skin pebble, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he knew his eyes had darkened.

Cullen leaned forward slowly, meeting Dorian's eyes with his molten copper gaze. The Commander’s lips parted, and the tip of his tongue flicked out to wet them. Those same lips curved in a smirk.

“Your deal, Dorian.”

***

Dorian won the next hand, though it was a near thing. The Commander's focus was incredible. It had taken a strategically dropped bit of cream from a pastry landing just shy of one of his piercings, followed by scooping it up with his thumb, and licking it clean. Cullen’s eyes had tracked each movement, his nostrils flaring as Dorian sucked the digit into his mouth. With the next turn, Cullen lost track of his cards, and played a mortally bad hand. Dorian threw his head back and let out a full-throated laugh, reveling in the flushed cheeks and stammered curse from the Commander. Cullen eyed him ruefully for a moment before shrugging, and then pulled his linen shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

Dorian watched from under hooded eyes, running his fingertips over his moustache to disguise his expression, though a muttered “Kaffas!” escaped his lips. Cullen quirked an eyebrow at him, but Dorian simply shook him head, and stood to fetch more wine from before the fireplace. He leaned one arm against the mantel, his shoulder bunching with muscle. Years of wielding a staff with precision and speed had kept the Tevinter mage lithe and fit, his olive skin gleaming in the flickering firelight. He swirled the goblet under his nose, and took a taste.

“Antivan red? Not what I was expecting,” he commented in an offhand manner, surreptitiously eyeing Cullen’s physique as he shuffled the cards. He shrugged without looking up, concentrating on his task.

“Given the number of dignitaries who've descended from all over Thedas lately, all hoping to ingratiate themselves with the Inquisitor, are you truly surprised?”

Dorian chuckled softly, shaking his head, his dark locks falling into his eyes.

“As I was accused of just that by our dear Revered Mother, no, I'm not surprised in the least.” He turned towards the fire, took another drink, and continued, somewhat bitterly. “After all, I'm the evil Tevinter Magister, I could only be here for some nefarious purpose.”

He was surprised when Cullen broke out laughing behind him, and spun around to stare at the golden man, who was watching him in amusement.

“And we all know our Inquisitor is quite safe from the dreaded seduction of an evil Tevinter Magister,” Cullen teased, saluting Dorian with his tankard. “After all, Adaar is charming, to be sure, but not where your interests lie.”

Cullen grinned at the mage, daring him to argue. Dorian simply raised an amused eyebrow, acknowledging the hit.

“It isn't as though you've hidden who you are, “ he continued, glancing away as he rubbed his hand across his neck in a habitual move. Dorian knew that gesture. Nerves. The Commander was nervous. But about what?

“I'd have spent my whole life dying on the inside, if I tried to be anyone but who I am,” Dorian murmured softly. “My father…” Dorian trailed off with a pained sigh, and turned to the fireplace once again.

“He couldn't accept who I was, so I left. I despise blood magic more than anything, and he was willing to go down that road to … to change me, for his political ambition.” He shuddered, though not from the cold. This was the chill of a bruised and battered heart, desperate for a father's approval, and always falling short.

“He's apologised, but still. I don't know if I can forgive him that. Hiding who I am, it has never been an option for me, Cullen.” He heard the sharp intake of breath behind him, and cursed himself again. Bloody wine was getting to him far faster than usual.

Or perhaps it was the uncoiling warmth in his chest, spreading to his belly as he spoke to the Commander. He turned to meet his eyes, and flinched at the horror held in the copper-gold depths, the sweet warmth in his belly turning sour. Of course, mention of blood magic would disgust a former Templar. He spun away, tossing back half his goblet of wine, then carefully set it down on the mantel.

“I do thank you for a most diverting evening, Commander, but I must…” A hand on his shoulder froze him, caught the words tight in his throat. The callused fingers squeezed once, asking wordlessly for him to turn. His spine straightened, he would not be pitied. “I bid you good evening, Commander. I must request the return of my shirt however.”

“Dorian…” Cullen's voice was low and full of _something_. Something cautious and … and hurt. And that was the last thing Dorian wanted. Steeling himself for that look of horror again, he turned slowly, towards the Commander’s grip still on his bare shoulder. This close, he had to look up at the other man, the couple fingerbreadths difference barely noticeable any other time. Cullen visibly steeled himself, his shoulders hunching as though guarding against a blow, before he straightened.

“What do you know of Ferelden's Blight, the civil war, the fall of the tower?” he asked softly, hesitantly. Dorian thought for a moment, and shook his head.

“Very little I'm afraid. Ten years ago I was still studying, and as always, my country had very little interest outside its borders. Somewhat short-sighted, that,” Dorian quipped, which brought a brief smile to the Commander's lips, pulling at his scar.

“I had newly taken my vows as a Templar. Ali had been recruited as a Grey Warden.” Cullen took a shuddering breath, and his eyes flicked restlessly about his office.

“There was… a revolt within the Circle. The doors were barred to keep abominations from escaping, and there were plenty. Eventually the Hero of Ferelden and several of his companions came through. I'd been alone for some time, my fellow Templars killed or turned. The blood mages and demons caged me, taunted me, tortured me.”

Cullen heard the swift intake of breath from the mage before him, and hurried on.

“When Kirkwall's Circle fell, the Knight-Commander had gone mad thanks to red lyrium, and the First Enchanter was tangled up with blood magic as well. If you've the stomach, ask Varric about Leandra Hawke. Orsino played a part in that monstrosity. I have seen recruits possessed by demons.” Cullen rubbed at his neck once again, then lifted his gaze to Dorian's, where it struck the mage like a searing brand.

“I have had many reasons to distrust mages, Dorian. But you, you pompous peacock, are the bravest, most ridiculously loyal man I have ever met.” Dorian stood speechless as Cullen stepped forward, into his space. A callused hand came to cup Dorian's chin, and the mage trembled at the tender strength of that grasp.

“And you tell me that the man who raised you, your father, tried to unmake who you are, to the point of blood magic…” Cullen shook his head, denying that possibility. “I might never have known you. And I find… _Maker_ … I would miss you, Dorian. I would have missed this.”

And suddenly that scarred mouth was against Dorian's own, lips far softer than they had any right to be, and Dorian moaned at the touch. His own hands swiftly tangled in Cullen's hair, pulling him closer until their bare chests collided. Cullen growled deep in his throat, and Dorian felt his cock jump at the sound. In a moment, solid arms were around him, and Cullen had one hand on the back of his neck, and the other broad palm splayed over the mage's lower back, pressing their bodies tightly together. Dorian could feel Cullen's arousal pressing against his thigh, and knew his own was swiftly becoming obvious as well. He shifted slightly, and with a roll of trim hips, slid his shaft against Cullen's in a slow glide, the leather of their trews barely cushioning the friction. Cullen broke their kiss, his head thrown back on a gasp, and Dorian ran his tongue down the other man's throat, and gave a sucking kiss to Cullen's collarbone. Cullen's hips bucked against his own, driving their cocks together hard, and suddenly Dorian found himself scooped into the air and carried to the Commander's desk, which was unceremoniously cleared of papers, plumes, an inkwell, and a half full bottle of Antivan brandy. Even as the lot crashed to the floor and smashed, Cullen was setting Dorian onto the desk and rutting against him.

Dorian’s cock throbbed in time with his pulse, which had sped up considerably at being manhandled so easily. He splayed his hand over the Commander's chest, stroking slim ringed fingers over the solid and scarred muscular form. He felt a nipple harden under his palm and surged up to lave his tongue over the pebbled skin before sucking on the tight nub. Cullen's muttered “Maker's breath” was all Dorian needed to hear, and he kissed his way across the broad, golden chest to give the neglected nipple the same treatment as the first. Cullen writhed under his skilled tongue, and fisted his hands in Dorian's sable hair to pull him up for another scorching kiss. He licked his way into Dorian's mouth, tangling their tongues round each other, sucking Dorian's tongue into his mouth before thrusting his own back into the wet heat of Dorian's mouth. The Commander plunged his tongue into Dorian again and again, the crude imitation of more intimate things causing Dorian’s cock to throb, and his hole to clench. Dorian felt rough fingertips caressing over his chest, and let out an undignified whine as one of his piercings was gently tugged. Cullen pulled back from their kiss to give him a heated, knowing glance, and dipped his head to nip and suck at the sensitive nubs, tugging the rings gently, one after the other, then grazing his teeth over the olive skin. Dorian bucked his hips up, desperately seeking friction for his throbbing cock.

“Cullen…” he breathed on a low moan, raking blunt nails down the Commander's sides to grip his hips, thumbs grazing over the prominent hipbones. Dorian ground into the larger man, whose hips bucked against his own for a moment before he set his teeth into the column of the Commander's neck.

“Dorian, _fuck_!” Cullen cried out, loudly. Dorian chuckled darkly, and laved his tongue over the mark he'd left, judiciously enough that it would fade by morning. Cullen growled above him, and grabbed his wrists in an unbreakable grip. Next thing he knew, he was pushed back to lay on the desk, his arms pinned above his head as Cullen climbed over him, his skin gleaming in the firelight, his eyes a gold-rimmed black of arousal. Dorian whimpered as he tested the strength of Cullen's hands about his wrists, and found he couldn't move. Cullen leaned down to kiss him passionately, sucking Dorian's tongue, flicking his own over the mage's lips, nibbling on his lower lip. Dorian squirmed underneath him, his thighs falling open to cradle Cullen's body closer, one foot hooking behind the Commander's knee to pull their hips closer. He drove up against the thick strength of Cullen's thighs, his arousal winding tighter with every thrust. In a lust driven fog, he turned his head, moaning the other man's name.

“Cullen…” The fierce golden man above him dropped to suck a mark on the mage's neck, a mark that Dorian could feel would last. Cullen reared back to look at his handiwork, and his expression was a ferocious snarl of satisfaction.

“ _Mine_ ,” he rasped, his voice gone deep and guttural, and it lanced down Dorian's spine like liquid fire. Dorian cried out as Cullen thrust against him, their eyes locked.

“Cullen….” He breathed, barely able to form words around his mounting arousal. But if this was happening, if this was his only chance, he didn't want to spend in his leathers like a youth. Despite what Cullen had just said, Dorian had no reason to trust this would continue past this night. He tried again, deliberately stilling his body, refusing to respond as he so desperately wanted.

“Cullen, wait a moment.”

Cullen blinked, slowly, going quiet above him. He glanced at Dorian’s swollen lips, his ravaged neck and chest, at his own grip pinning the muscular mage. His hands loosened abruptly, eyes widening, and Dorian snatched two handfuls of his hair to keep him from retreating in a guilt-ridden panic. Dorian internally rolled his eyes, but the only hint of impatience he gave was the tightness of his fingers as he dragged Cullen down for a desperate, passionate kiss.

“Don't you dare start overthinking, my darling Commander,” he ordered in a purr, giving the slightest buck of his hips to remind him exactly how enthusiastically he'd been participating. Cullen's lips quirked in a smile at the familiar, and yet very new nickname.

“My only concern is for your dignity as Commander.” He paused, lips curving in a teasing smile. “And my own comfort, of course. Lock the damn doors, Commander, and I'll wait for you above.” Finally, he let go of his grip on Cullen's hair, and pressed his palms to the man's chest and shoved.

Cullen didn't move an inch, just held himself over Dorian and grinned, the expression taking years off his features. Dorian did roll his eyes this time, but his lips curved in a fond smile.

“Yes, yes, you're a great brute of a man, I'm terribly impressed by your strength. Now get off me, you oaf.”

Cullen's grin turned wicked, and he leaned down to nip at Dorian's earlobe lightly.

“Get off you? And here I thought the point was to get you off,” he teased, trailing his tongue over the shell of Dorian's ear, then sucking on the lobe, prompting an unconscious thrust of Dorian's hips as the mage cried out.

“Noted,” Cullen murmured, his tone smug.

Dorian glared for a moment, then raked his nails down the Commander's back. Cullen threw his head back on a throaty groan, his hips pressing into the mage.

“Indeed,” Dorian gloated.

Cullen pressed a slow, tender kiss to the mage's lips.

“You're impossible,” he murmured affectionately, his voice husky.

“Of course I am,” Dorian retorted, a little breathless, but his blue-grey eyes warm and sparkling with mischief. “After all, it's one of my many charms.”

He pressed his palm over Cullen's heart, the strong beat a balm to his fears. He took his lower lip between his teeth, and cast a coy look up at his lover from beneath soot-dark lashes.

“Go, Cullen. Secure the doors, give word you're not to be disturbed unless Corypheus himself arrives with a gold-inlaid invitation from our most charming spymaster, then come find me.”

This time Cullen allowed himself to be pressed back, his eyes dancing with amusement at Dorian's instructions. He slid slowly backwards, crawling down Dorian's body to climb off the desk. Dorian watched with interest as the golden man bent to lay a gentle kiss to his chest, then his stomach, his hipbones, one after the other. Dorian's breathing sped up at the display before him, letting out a softly muttered “Fasta vass!” as Cullen nosed at the dark trail of hair leading south from his navel. Cullen smirked at him, then abruptly stepped back, pulling him upright as well. Dorian stumbled at the sudden move, and Cullen wrapped his arms around the mage to steady him, his hands sliding over olive skin in a caress. Cullen leaned down and kissed him gently, lips closed, soft and tender. Dorian molded his body to the ex-Templar's, running his hands up muscular biceps to wrap his arms around Cullen's neck. The kiss deepened, Cullen sliding his arms around the mage to grasp the back of his neck. He trailed his nails lightly up the nape of Dorian's neck, assessing his reaction. The mage purred against his lips, then flicked his tongue over the Commander's scar.

Cullen moaned softly, and walked the mage in his arms to the southern door. He pressed Dorian into the door, nibbling on his neck and stroking callused fingers over Dorian's ribs, reaching a hand to lock the door. Dorian chuckled at the click, his fingers flexing against the broad shoulders and trim waist pinning him. He curled his tongue around Cullen's earlobe, sucking on it lightly, then nipping at the pulse just below. Cullen growled and pressed a muscular thigh between Dorian's legs, and slid a hand down to cup his ass, grinding against the mage. Dorian hooked a leg around Cullen's hip, pulling the soldier even closer as their lips met in another passionate kiss. Cullen licked his way into Dorian’s mouth, sucking on Dorian's tongue and drawing a deep moan. Cullen felt the mage's lips curve in a smile, and suddenly Dorian had hopped up and wrapped his other leg around Cullen's waist. Cullen lurched under the sudden shift in balance, but quickly adjusted, setting his arms under Dorian's thighs and hoisting him into a more comfortable position, pressing the mage back against the door for support. Cullen reached a hand between their bodies, stroking the taut muscles of Dorian's abdomen, teasing his way lower, hooking his fingers into Dorian’s laces, his knuckles brushing against the straining cock still confined. Dorian ripped away from the kiss, head thumping against the solid oak door as he gasped out Cullen's name.

A sudden draft blew into the room as the door from Solas' rotunda was opened, and an Inquisition scout came in with his head bent over the sheaf of papers in his hands.

“A note from Ambassador Montilyet for you, ser.”

The hapless man hadn't even glanced up yet, walking blindly towards the desk as the pair against the southern door looked on in bemused silence. Dorian dropped his feet to the ground, and pressed his face against Cullen's neck, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Cullen was glaring balefully over his shoulder at the interruption, and turned and bore down on the unsuspecting man. Jim, meanwhile, stopped and stared at the floor in puzzlement as glass crunched under his boot, and suddenly looked around. He gulped as he saw the Inquisition's Commander striding angrily toward him, half dressed and disheveled, and sporting an impressive erection.

“ _WHAT?!_ ” growled the Commander, fierce and imposing as he stood over the smaller man.

The scout coughed and stumbled over his words.

“A note, ser. Commander. Ambassador Montilyet asked that it be brought to you right away.” He hesitated then, uncertain how to proceed in the face of the Commander's displeasure, as he couldn't have truly done anything differently.

“Jim, be a dear, and leave it on the desk,” Dorian suggested from where he lounged against the ladder. “Plenty of room, obviously. Then if you would be so kind as to let our darling Ambassador know the Commander has retired for the evening, so will reply to her first thing in the morning, I'd be ever so grateful.”

Jim dropped the papers and all but ran for the door, nary a by-your-leave. Cullen strode after him, locking the door, then swiftly moved to the northern battlement door and locked that as well. Then he turned to face Dorian, while leaning back against the door. He rubbed his hands over his face, his ears pink in embarrassment, now that the anger had faded. He ducked his head and rubbed at his neck, and glanced up at Dorian through his lashes, almost shy now that the mood had been disrupted. Dorian read him easily, and sauntered towards him, crossing the space with a graceful stride to stand before Cullen, sharing his space without crowding.

“I do hope you'll forgive me, my darling Commander, for interrupting. I feared you might snap off poor Jim's head, and then we'd have Leliana at the door.” Dorian gave a dramatic shudder, but his blue-grey eyes were alight with mischief. “Besides, there was no hiding exactly what is going on.” He reached down and stroked a single finger down Cullen's shaft, still pressing tightly against his leathers. Cullen growled softly, and stepped towards the infuriating man before him.

“Don't tease, Dorian,” he said in a gruff voice, staring down at the mage with hooded eyes.

“I would never!” Dorian exclaimed, mockingly offended. Then he shrugged. “Well, yes, I certainly would. And will, another time. But for now, tonight… I do believe my Lord Commander of the Inquisition claimed me,” he pointed out, tilting his chin up to show the love bite on his throat clearly. “I distinctly recall being pinned to a bit of furniture, and told in no uncertain terms, ‘ _Mine_!’.”

He even managed a Ferelden accent for that single word. Cullen blushed brilliantly at the reminder of his dominant behaviour, but when he would have spoken, Dorian placed a finger over the Commander's lips.

“My darling Commander, turn about is fair play. So you, my fine man, are mine,” Dorian all but growled the last, and hooked his fingers into the waist of Cullen's leathers, pulling him close.

Cullen shuddered at having Dorian's clever fingers so close to his throbbing shaft, and pulled the mage in for a forceful kiss. Dorian’s body went pliant against his, the mage's muscular form melting against him. Then Dorian's fingertips wiggled their way further, and gave the barest brush of friction to the throbbing head of his cock. Cullen snarled in aroused frustration, and bit and sucked a mark onto Dorian's collarbone as he cupped the mage's deliciously rounded ass with both hands. He squeezed and kneaded, and thrust against Dorian's cock, then leaned down to capture Dorian's earlobe in his teeth.

“Altus Pavus,” he growled, his accent thick and considerably deeper than usual. Dorian froze in his arms, waiting for that voice to sweep over him again. “Unless you wish me to bend you over that desk, and take you standing in a puddle of spilled brandy, get your ass up that ladder.”

Cullen opened his arms, and Dorian slipped out of them, and headed for the ladder.

“Let's save that for another time, shall we?” he sassed, detouring to the chairs before the fireplace. “For tonight, I do believe a bed would be preferable.” He scooped up Cullen's coat, and stepped to the ladder. “I take it you haven't fixed your roof yet, so I'm laying claim to your coat.”

Cullen watched him climb the ladder with a predator's gaze, then drew a shuddering, steadying breath. He glanced at the sheaf of papers on his desk and let out a soft groan. He couldn't ignore his duties. He strode quickly to his desk and tore open the seal. He scanned the contents quickly, and let out a snarl. Crumpling the paper, he tossed it on his desk. He strode to the ladder ascending quickly. As he reached the upper floor, he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. First thing he spotted was Dorian's boots, laying abandoned near the hatch. The gleam of moonlight from the gap in the ceiling showed Dorian's trousers just beyond, and Cullen's breath caught in his throat.

He stepped away from the hatch hurriedly, kicked off his boots, bending to remove his socks. A low moan came from his bed and he froze, casting his gaze towards that darkened corner of his room. He straightened gracefully from his crouch, searching in the odd flickering light from the fireplace below. A lighter shadow than the rest moved, and Cullen focused on the movement. There. He stepped closer, tracing the edges of shadow for the mage. Suddenly everything snapped into focus as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and Cullen groaned out a strangled “ _Maker's breath!_ ” Dorian lay propped against the headboard, the two pillows mounded behind him. Cullen's own coat was wrapped around Dorian’s shoulders, one hand tugged on a pierced nipple, the other… Cullen groaned deeply, his cock throbbing against his laces as he watched Dorian stroke himself slowly, his eyes locked on Cullen's face. Dorian bit his lip, his spine locking and hips bucking as he dragged the pad of his thumb over the slit. Cullen swallowed, his breathing ragged, as Dorian lifted his hand to his mouth, and sucked the bead of precome from his thumb, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, then meeting Cullen's gaze again, the pupils blown wide with lust, swallowing up the grey-blue to a sliver.

Dorian stroked his hand back down his chest, caressing and teasing his way down to grasp his aching cock again.

 

“What are you waiting for, Amatus?” the mage asked in a low, throaty voice. As his hand slid down his shaft, he twisted his wrist, and his hips thrust again, his eyes falling shut on a hissed “ _Kaffas!_ ”

A scalding wet tongue suddenly swirled around the head of his cock, and Dorian's head snapped back onto the pillows, a piercing cry escaping his lips, his hands clutching at Cullen's thick curls. A large hand wrapped around his shaft, the fingers and palm callused from years of sword work. Cullen's hand slid down his shaft, squeezing gently at the base before twisting on the way back up. Meanwhile, Cullen's tongue was busy, laving over the slit, flicking up the underside and over the frenulum, then slicking again around the head, teasing under the foreskin. As his hand slid back down, Cullen swallowed down over the head, hollowing his cheeks and sucking. Dorian keened Cullen's name, his hips bucking involuntarily. Cullen didn't hesitate; as his lover's hips thrust, Cullen flattened his tongue to the underside of Dorian's shaft, and allowed the head to slide down his throat, where he swallowed deliberately, drawing another curse from the mage. Cullen slid up and off with a pop, resting his large hands on Dorian's hips, and nuzzling at his shaft with the tip of his nose, with his scarred lip, the rough edge of the scar a counterpoint to the delicious softness of his lips.

“Not so fast, _Amatus_ ,” Cullen scolded, flexing his hands on Dorian's hips, just the tips of his nails scratching lightly over the olive skin.

Dorian stared down at him, more than a little wild-eyed, and breathed out, “Didn't you tell me not to tease? And my darling Commander, one ought to know the meaning of words, before one uses them.”

Cullen nuzzled at Dorian's inner thigh for a moment, licking his lips, savouring the musky taste on his tongue. Then he rose, and gracefully crawled up over the mage, leaning down to press their lips together. Dorian groaned anew at the taste of his precome combined with the new-familiar taste of Cullen, and sucked the Commander's tongue into his mouth. Cullen met the kiss with passion of his own, but it was tightly controlled. Finally they broke apart, each gasping lightly for breath, and Cullen kissed his way gently down Dorian's jaw, tasting the light sheen of sweat, the fragrance the mage wore, and… Dorian. Cullen moaned softly, and lifted a hand to gently stroke Dorian's hair back from his aristocratic features. He trailed his tongue lightly over the shell of Dorian's ear, and breathed a quiet phrase, his tone affectionate and full of laughter.

“Festis bei umo canavarum, Amatus.”

As he heard the sharp intake of breath from his lover, he nibbled on Dorian's earlobe a moment, then sucked on it firmly, dropping his weight against the smaller man to grind their cocks together. Dorian bucked wildly beneath him, his nails raking down the other man's back, scoring down each side of his spine. Cullen groaned, his hips snapping against Dorian's forcefully, the muscles of his shoulders bunching as he held his weight as to not crush the mage.

Dorian pushed back on those broad shoulders, and Cullen backed off, meeting his gaze. Dorian's eyes were wide and surprised, and nearly black with arousal.

“My darling Commander, wherever did you learn that? That phrase tends to be thrown as a curse,” Dorian murmured, a soft chuckle escaping him. “I don't know that I've heard it as an endearment before.” He ran a gentle knuckle over Cullen's cheek, then sat up to kiss the blond man tenderly, cupping his face.

Cullen kissed back softly, slowly, trailing gentle fingertips down Dorian’s spine. He pulled back slowly, and chuckled wryly.

“My time in Kirkwall, of all places. One of the Champion's companions was an escaped Tevinter slave. I heard that phrase many times over the years as Hawke dragged that band about. As you say, it was certainly a curse to start. But eventually Hawke and Fenris came to an understanding, and the meaning changed. And what can I say, Dorian, you teasing,” and Cullen leaned down to press a light kiss to the mage's left palm, “irritating,” then the right, “delightful,” the inside of the wrist, “impossible”, pulling the mage to him to kiss his lips tenderly, “wonderful man. The phrase seems to suit you.”

Dorian breathed a laugh.

“Well, Cullen, if you fear I'll be the death of you, perhaps you ought to lie down, conserve your strength.” And the mage pulled on one wrist while shoving hard on the opposite shoulder, and Cullen laughingly allowed himself to be spun down onto his back, pulling the mage to sit astride his firm thighs.

“Oh, now this is a charming view… though perhaps…” he quirked a perfectly plucked brow, and raised a hand, palm up. “May I?”

Once Cullen would have tensed or lashed out. Now he simply chuckled and nodded. Dorian conjured a ball of light that danced above his palm, never quite still.

“I won't be able to hold it, if I'm, shall we say, distracted,” he explained, casting a lascivious gaze over Cullen's prone form. The Commander sprawled back on the pillows, one hand behind his head, the other tracing nonsense patterns on Dorian's bare thigh, a possessive light in his eyes to see Dorian enveloped in his coat. He jerked his chin to the wardrobe across the room.

“A candelabra ended up in there, and I presume you are more than capable of lighting candles,” he teased.

Dorian slid off his lap gracefully, and sauntered across the room. He looked somewhat ridiculous in Cullen's coat, but Cullen couldn't bring himself to care. As soon as Dorian's back was turned, he ripped open his laces, biting his lip to stifle a groan of relief as his cock was finally freed. He shimmied and wriggled his hips free, his cock bouncing obscenely as he kicked the leathers free to land on the edge of the bed, before sliding to the floor with a quiet whump. Meanwhile, Dorian was muttering his way through the wardrobe, apparently in a fruitless search. Cullen thought a moment, then called out.

“The chest to the left. My apologies, Dorian, I'd forgotten I’d moved it.” He watched as the mage half-turned to look at him, but as Dorian held the room's only light, his own body cast a deep shadow, and he turned back to his search.

“Your appointments aren't exactly that large, darling, you would think you could keep track of a single candelabra,” Dorian teased as he bent over the chest, offering a deliciously provocative view for Cullen's gaze as his heavy coat rode up the back of Dorian's thighs, flashing the curve of his ass. Cullen bit his lip and squeezed the base of his cock, hoping to alleviate some of the throbbing ache.

“I don't believe you've seen my appointments yet, my dear Dorian,” he taunted, receiving a throaty chuckle in return. He watched as Dorian pulled the battered brass candelabra from the bottom of the chest, then dug for candles.

“And if you're thinking of that night of Wicked Grace,” Cullen continued, amused as Dorian froze a moment before continuing his search. “To be blunt, you weren't seeing me at my best.”

Dorian snorted, and shoved three candles into place. He gave a flick of his wrist and lit them, then set it on the small table next to the basin. He turned with a sly retort ready, and froze at the golden sight before him.

Cullen lay propped on the pillows where he'd left him, but the candlelight cast shadows and light over the planes of his chest, the blades of his hips, the thick muscles of his thighs. And drawing Dorian's eyes like a lodestone, his shaft, reaching nearly to his navel, curving slightly left, in a thatch of golden hair. Dorian practically salivated at the sight, his own cock giving a dizzying pulse in reaction. Cullen's thick thighs were slightly spread, one knee bent, and the look he was giving Dorian drew the mage forward. At once hungry, possessive, heated, and affectionate. The Commander crooked a finger, and Dorian obeyed that silent command, the summons in those eyes. He stepped closer, sweeping his eyes over the gorgeous sight before him, and climbed onto the bed. He moved to lay next to his lover, but jolted when he glanced down at Cullen's cock. Disbelieving, he reached down and teased the piercing, and watched as Cullen bucked and groaned.

“My dearest Commander, you _are_ just full of surprises, aren't you?” Dorian murmured, running slender fingers down Cullen's shaft to play with his balls.

“Dorian…” Cullen gasped. “Unless you want this to be over before it begins, mind what those clever fingers of yours do. It has been… mmmm… some time.”

Dorian chuckled against his neck, nibbling lightly, enjoying the rasp of stubble against his cheek. Cullen tried again, swallowing hard as those slender hands stroked him far too pleasurably.

“Dorian, wait. I want… ahh! Stop, love, give me a moment…”

Dorian stilled at the pet name, his heart pounding in his chest.

“What… what was it you wanted?”

Cullen hauled the pillows from behind his head, dropping flat to the mattress. Grabbing Dorian by waist, Cullen grunted, lifting the mage to straddle his shoulders. Dorian stared down at him in surprise, then chuckled. He started to shift back, grabbing the base of his cock to help Cullen reach. Cullen smirked.

“You misunderstand, darling,” he murmured in a husky voice. He rasped his chin against the tender skin at the apex of Dorian's thighs, and the mage cried out, thrusting blindly forward. “Better, but not quite there.” And he picked up Dorian again, shifting him higher, crowding the mage almost to the headboard. Dorian looked down, and could see the gold of Cullen's eyes, and little else. His breathing picked up, and he grasped the headboard with both hands, canting his hips just slightly.

Cullen's eyes warmed with approval and intent, then Dorian's eyes shut in bliss as Cullen's tongue lapped over his puckered entrance. “Kaffas!” Dorian swore, and he moaned as he felt Cullen chuckle against him, tongue still busy swirling over the tight ring of muscles.

“I certainly hope not, love,” he murmured. “I've picked up a few leanings over the years, that is not one of them. And certainly that kind of thing should be discussed beforehand.”

Dorian leaned back, placing his palms on Cullen's hips, and let his head fall back. As Cullen began to tease and torment him again, licking, kissing, and sucking on his entrance, Dorian felt a flush sliding through his body, and his cock seemed to throb in time with his pulse. Cullen speared his tongue into Dorian, who cried out his name, quivering above him. Cullen steadied him with a broad palm to his lower back, then delved into him again, sending him writhing and moaning, his back bent in a graceful arch. A rough fingertip pressed to Dorian's lips, and he sucked the finger into his mouth, tonguing it down to the knuckles. A second finger was presented and he did the same, then drew his head back and swallowed down both, flicking his tongue between them, leaving both dripping wet.

Cullen thrust his tongue again, the ring of muscle starting to loosen under his ministrations. He brought a fingertip to stroke and tease around the rim, and Dorian shuddered above him, moaning and dazed. Cullen smirked a moment, and withdrew his tongue to press lightly against Dorian's entrance with a fingertip. Dorian bucked above him, and Cullen flexed his fingers against his back, soothing him wordlessly. He pressed gently again, and Dorian whimpered brokenly as the tip of Cullen's finger slipped inside. Dorian's ass clenched hard, and Cullen stroked his back, murmuring softly.

“Hush, love. It's alright. You're doing so well, darling.”

Dorian relaxed at his voice, and Cullen swept his tongue over Dorian's entrance again, and around his own finger, wetting it further. He pressed slowly, and his finger sank to the second knuckle. He looked up to check on Dorian, but couldn't see his face with his head thrown back.

“Dorian, are you alright? Should I stop?” he rasped, neither advancing nor retreating while he waited for his lover to answer. “Beloved, talk to me.”

Dorian trembled at his words, and shifted to hold the headboard again, a flush apparent despite his olive skin.

 

“Don't you dare stop, Amatus!” he ordered, glaring down ferociously.

Cullen's dark chuckle rolled through them both, then Cullen set to take Dorian apart at the seams. He licked and sucked at his entrance, pressing his finger deeper one moment, then withdrawing it slightly the next. He tilted his chin up to lave his tongue over Dorian's balls, drawing a startled cry from him. He pressed again with his finger, smiling in triumph when Dorian took it all. Cullen looked up to his lover's face, and watched carefully as he crooked his finger inside Dorian. Dorian moaned softly, his kohl-lined eyes falling shut. Cullen smirked. Good, but not the reaction he wanted. He licked over a second finger, and withdrawing the first, pressed back with two. Dorian shuddered and whined above him, a sweat breaking out over his body. Cullen speared his tongue in with his fingers, teasing and lapping at Dorian's rim as he oh so slowly stretched his opening. He moved his fingers about carefully, savouring the hot clench, and when he heard a sharp inhale, knew he'd found his goal. He crooked his fingers again, and this time the result was electrifying. Dorian keened his name, then began babbling.

“Maker, yes, there! Fasta vass, don't stop, Cullen! Please, oh fuck, _yes._ ” Cullen's eyes narrowed, and he leaned up to lick and oh so gently suckle on Dorian's balls, reveling in the musky scent of arousal and sweat and man. He brought his hand around from Dorian's back to ghost down his chest, then grasped his aching cock, stroking with a loose fist. His other hand kept teasing and toying at the bundle of nerves, a knuckle pressed between his balls and entrance adding a spike of pleasure as he continued to finger Dorian.

“That's it Dorian, take your pleasure,” Cullen growled, his voice deepened with lust as his lover trembled and shook over him. “You feel perfect, beloved, so hot and tight; I can't wait to feel you clenching around my cock.”

Dorian whimpered, his hips bucking.

“Mmmm.. you want that, don't you? You want me to pick you up, set you on my lap, and ride me, Dorian?” Dorian moaned, his ass clenching. “Or shall I lay you on your back, wrap your legs around my waist, and pound you into the mattress?”

Dorian gave a shout and bore down on Cullen's hand, but though Cullen watched the throb and pulse of Dorian's cock, he spilled no seed. Dorian slumped over Cullen, his hair an unruly mess, his muscles trembling in aftershock. He attempted to shift down the bed, but his legs wobbled and wouldn't support him just yet. Cullen lifted him instead and sat up, setting his lover in his lap. Dorian pressed his forehead to Cullen's, breathing deeply, before capturing his mouth in a desperate, fervent kiss. When they parted, he pressed their foreheads together again, and murmured softly “Amatus…”

Cullen stroked his hands up and down Dorian's back under his coat. He smiled, a wry twist to his lips.

“You do realise, Dorian, I'll never be able to wear this without thinking of tonight,” he chuckled, tweaking the fur of the collar.

Dorian gave him a smile of pure mischief.

“That was the idea.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, but grinned.

“And will you be able to see me wear this, without thinking of tonight?”  
  
Dorian opened his mouth, a quick reply at the ready. Then he swallowed, and shook his head, his eyes serious.

“Indeed not.”

Cullen breathed out on a soft sigh. He reached up and cupped Dorian's jaw as though he were the most precious thing in all of Thedas, then pressed their lips together softly. Achingly slowly, they caressed each other, their kisses staying gentle and quiet for long minutes. One kiss melded into the next, and soon enough, the men were clutching at each other again, Dorian grinding down against Cullen.

“Dorian…” Cullen breathed. “I want… ahh! Please, I need…” Dorian silenced him with another kiss, reaching between their bodies to grasp Cullen’s cock, the head nearly purple with arousal. Cullen cried out, his hips thrusting into Dorian's hand, chasing the contact.

“My, my. Feeling impatient, my darling Commander?” Dorian teased. “As flattering as it would be to drag that orgasm out of you with my hands, I have a better idea. Tell me you've some sort of oil? Because there will be no way I could take this beast of yours,” he squeezed the base of Cullen's cock just so, and Cullen groaned and shuddered at his touch, “without some assistance.”

Cullen pointed to the side table with a single drawer. Dorian crawled off his lap, and Cullen grumbled at the loss, even as he watched his lover reach into the drawer for the small bottle he kept there. Dorian chuckled at his grumbles and shook his rear at Cullen, holding up the bottle in triumph. Suddenly he was seized by the hips and dragged backwards. Cullen pulled his hips up, lifting his ass, and laid a gentle but firm palm between his shoulder blades. Dorian dropped down to rest his cheek on his crossed arms, inhaling the scent of Cullen from the sheets.

Cullen gazed at the delectable view before him, Dorian's perfect ass presented for him, his pucker pink and inviting, his balls hanging heavy, his cock bobbing, a drop of seed at the tip.

“Give me the oil, Dorian,” he ordered gruffly, adding a _please_ as an afterthought. Dorian hurriedly passed it back, his graceful fingers teasing over his hole, drawing a groan from Cullen.

“Lose the coat, love,” he growled. “I want to be able to touch you.”

Dorian hurriedly squirmed out of the coat, and bundling it as a pillow, rubbed his cheek over the fur ruff. He moaned softly as Cullen's warm hands slid up the backs of his thighs, ghosting over his ass before squeezing gently at his hips. Cullen's thumbs ran in circles over Dorian's ass, stroking and teasing, then pulling gently to further expose his hole. Cullen bent and ran his tongue over the sensitive skin, quickly spearing it into Dorian's body, sucking lightly as he pulled back again. He slicked his fingers, and slid one into Dorian's body, moaning softly at the hot clench. He leaned forward, gently kissing the small of Dorian's back, causing the mage to squirm and sigh. Cullen deliberately scraped his stubbled chin over Dorian's cheeks, down the cleft, and was rewarded with a curse and another clench around his finger.

Cullen chuckled darkly.

“Have a care, Dorian, I'll think you want it rough if you keep reacting like that.”

He watched in amused speculation as the man underneath him whimpered and gave a full-body shudder, whispering a broken, “Amatus, please!”

Cullen felt a bolt of lust spear through him, and his closed his eyes to regain control. When he opened them again, he caught Dorian's gaze as he looked back over his shoulder, and Cullen let out a growl, his pupils swallowing the copper-gold of his eyes.

“You want that… _Maker’s breath_ … you want me to slick my shaft, grab hold of your hips, and drive into you. You want me to ride you, leaving my mark on you with my teeth, to claim you.”

Cullen withdrew his finger, adding a second with ease, sliding it in and out several times before carefully adding a third. Dorian gasped, his cock throbbing as Cullen froze.

“Dorian, are you alright, beloved?” When there was no answer but panted breaths, Cullen started to pull back.

“Fasta vass, Cullen, wait! Give me a moment… where did someone essentially raised in a Chantry learn to talk like that, I wonder?” Dorian muttered, a thread of laughter in his voice.

Cullen nibbled on the smooth, tempting flesh of Dorian's ass, chuckling as the other man gasped.

“I was never destined for the Chantry, I haven't been a Templar for years, and you might be surprised what a port city like Kirkwall can stir up.”

He twitched his fingers and Dorian let out a breathless moan, pushing back against his hand.

“Dorian?” he teased, pulling his fingers back the tiniest bit, a smile of triumph curving his lips as that slight withdrawal drew a sound of protest. He added a bit more oil to his fingers, then pushed slowly forward, burying all three in Dorian's clutching heat. The mage keened softly, then as Cullen crooked his fingers unerringly, shouted in surprise, driving his hips back. Cullen spread his fingers carefully, stretching his lover's entrance slowly. He kissed his way over Dorian's lower back, listening to his breathing accelerate as he grazed that bundle of nerves again.

“Cullen, it is _you_ who will be the death of me! Enough teasing, would you please f- _AHHH_!” Dorian cried out as Cullen swiftly removed his fingers, lined up his weeping cock, and thrust into his tight heat. Only the head of Cullen’s cock had breached his rim, but both men froze at the sensation, Dorian burying his face in the fur of Cullen's coat, Cullen resting his forehead on the swell of Dorian’s back.

Cullen breathed out slowly, then smiled mischievously and licked a line up Dorian's backbone. The mage gasped a quick laugh and squirmed, and both men groaned at the movement.

“Dorian, may I…?” Cullen asked, rather desperately.

“What happened to driving into me, riding my a- _hnng_!”

Dorian broke off with a strangled exclamation as Cullen thrust into him, and he discovered first-hand the advantage of the ring piercing Cullen's cock. It added a ridge of contact with every stroke, and Cullen was running it over that sensitive spot over and over again. Cullen leaned over him, grabbing his hip in one hand, his shoulder with the other, and pounded into him. Dorian drove back against him as best he could while pinned, his hole clenching around the cock driving into him. What he lacked in the ability to move, came out in a string of broken Tevene, a mix of curses, pleas, and commands.

Cullen could feel the warmth building in the pit of his stomach, and knew it wouldn't be long. He leaned down and nipped at Dorian's earlobe, and spoke is a low rasp.

“You want me to mark you, Dorian? Brand you as mine for all to see?”

Dorian reached up blindly and grabbed a fistful of Cullen's sweat-damp hair, pulling just shy of painfully before loosening his grip to stroke down Cullen's mane of curls. Cullen groaned at the pull, his cock throbbing. His thrusts sped up, and he reached around to stroke Dorian's shaft in time with his thrusts. The heat in his belly grew to an inferno, he felt his balls tighten up to his body, and he bit down on Dorian's shoulder, pulling a cry from the mage. Cullen's hips stuttered, driving into Dorian to the hilt once, twice, then continued their desperate pounding. Suddenly Cullen tangled his fingers with Dorian's, and threw his head back on a shattering cry, hips resting against Dorian's ass as he spilled his seed deep into Dorian. Cullen's vision whited out for a few heartbeats, his pulse pounding in his ears.

When his vision cleared, he realised that despite his release, his cock was still hard and aching, something that had happened to him but rarely. His hand had stilled around Dorian’s shaft, and he was still hard and throbbing. He squeezed gently now, pulling a moan from his lover.

“A moment, beloved…” Cullen withdrew, smirking at the whimpered complaint. He rolled smoothly onto his back next to Dorian, and crooked a finger. “Come here, Dorian. Time for you to ride _me_.”

He pulled the unresisting mage into his arms, kissing him deeply, one hand tangled in Dorian's dark hair, the other reaching down to tease his entrance, feeling his own seed leaking from him with a smug joy.

Dorian rose to his knees over Cullen, and reached down to grasp the Commander's shaft. He ran his thumb over the piercing, and smirked as Cullen moaned in response. He led Cullen's cock to his entrance, and sank down slowly, the angle far deeper than their previous position. With a sinuous roll of his hips, he began moving over his lover. Cullen thrust up to meet him, and Dorian cried out, his cock throbbing and leaking. He shifted to his feet, squatting over the Commander, and pushed himself up and back down, bracing himself on Cullen's shoulders. Cullen grabbed his thighs, and placing his feet flat on the bed with his knees bent, started pistoning up into Dorian, his hips leaving the mattress with the force of his thrusts.

Dorian reached back and nudged Cullen's thighs, and he took the hint without a word, spreading his feet to shoulder width apart. Dorian reached back, and bracing his hands on Cullen's knees, and lifted his hips before slamming back down to meet Cullen's. Cullen wrapped a hand around Dorian’s cock, stroking the shaft and running his thumb over the slit, smearing the dripping precome to slick his palm. Dorian moaned at his touch, his arms trembling as he held himself above Cullen, who saw the quake and tapped his lover's knee. Dorian lowered himself to Cullen's lap, and as Cullen sat up to wrap an arm around the mage, Dorian wrapped his arms and legs about Cullen.

Their movements slowed, rocking together as Cullen stroked him almost leisurely. Cullen kissed his way up Dorian's neck, then nibbled and sucked on his earlobe, earning him a moan of pleasure. Cullen twisted suddenly, taking Dorian down onto the mattress, his legs still wrapped around the Commander's waist. Cullen stroked Dorian in time with his thrusts, slowly moving faster as Dorian's breathing hitched. He leaned down and kissed his lover, then bent lower, and flicked his tongue over Dorian's nipple, tugging on the ring lightly with his teeth.

“Cullen, please Amatus,” Dorian pleaded, his expression dazed.

Cullen smiled down at him, and bent to plunder his mouth as he doubled the speed of his thrusts. Dorian called out his name desperately, canting his hips, and wrapping his own hand around Cullen's fist on his cock. He squeezed slightly, increasing the pressure, and flicked his thumbnail over the slit. His back bowed suddenly in a taut, graceful arch, only his shoulders and feet touching the bed. His hole clenched around Cullen's shaft as his cock spurt out his release, and the candles flared brightly as he cried out Cullen's name.

Cullen stroked him through the aftershocks, the continuous tightening around his shaft driving him quickly to his own release. When Dorian finally stilled and went pliant underneath him, Cullen propped himself on one hand, and swept the other through the seed smeared across Dorian's chest. Dorian watched him voraciously, letting out a moan as Cullen licked his fingers clean, growling at the taste. Cullen slid his hand through the mess again, and his eyes never leaving Dorian's face, he pressed two fingers to his own crevice, moaning softly at the light burn, even as he continued to thrust into Dorian. Dorian's eyes widened, and he canted his hips up, and sliding his own fingers through his seed, he lifted his fingers to Cullen's mouth. Cullen latched onto them, groaning at the taste, his hips shuddering as he began his climb to his peak once again. He flicked his tongue over Dorian's fingers, his own fingers buried in his hole, pressing again and again into the bundle of nerves.

Dorian pulled Cullen down for a passionate kiss, then murmured softly in his ear.

“Come for me, Amatus. Take _your_ pleasure,” he echoed.

“Dorian, Maker, please!” Cullen panted, his cock driving into Dorian's depths. “Mark me, love. Claim me!” he implored, exposing his throat.

Dorian licked his way up the column of Cullen's neck, tasting the salt of his sweat. Dorian fisted his hand in Cullen's riotous curls, tugging sharply enough to draw a gasp from the Commander, his cock giving a hard pulse in Dorian's ass. Dorian licked his way down again, and sank his teeth into the muscle of Cullen's neck. Cullen's arm supporting his weight gave way, and his hand locked into Dorian's hair, pulling him closer.

Dorian growled softly “You're mine, Amatus!”, and raked his nails down Cullen's back. Cullen's spine went stiff, his hips hammering into Dorian one last time, and he cried out. His cock spasmed deep in his lover, filling him with a slick heat. Dorian groaned rapturously at the sensation, his cock giving the slightest twitch of interest. He chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around his lover, only the harsh breathing and the pounding of his heart against his own letting him know the man lived for long moments. Cullen slowly lifted his head, and raised a shaking hand to wipe the sweat from his eyes. He stroked a hesitant, gentle, fingertip down Dorian’s cheek, tracing over the pouting lips, then grazing his knuckle up his jaw in a feather-light touch. He stared down at him for a moment, searching his gaze. Slowly, carefully as though Dorian were made of glass, he bent to press their lips together is a soft, almost chaste kiss.

Dorian was far from inexperienced. He'd sought his pleasure where he would over the years, and had shared a thousand kisses. This wasn't even the most passionate he'd received from Cullen that night. But this kiss reached a cold, hard wall inside himself, and laid siege. His barriers tumbling down, he wrapped his arms around Cullen's neck, kissing him back sweetly.

Cullen pulled back with a slow smile, then froze in dismay, reaching to wipe away the tear trailing down Dorian's temple.

“Oh, no, beloved. What is it?”

Dorian pulled Cullen down to him, burying his face against his neck as he shook with emotion. Cullen stroked his hair, shushing him soothingly, murmuring softly in his ear.

“Dorian, my love… are you alright?”

Dorian released his stranglehold on his lover, allowing Cullen to lift his head to look at him.

“I'm a fool in love, Cullen. Never better.”

Cullen gaped at him a moment, his cheeks flushing, then he dropped to kiss Dorian passionately.

“I love you too,” he breathed, pressing their foreheads together.

“I'm aware, darling. You've been saying it all night,” Dorian reminded him affectionately, stretching languorously. Cullen's nostrils flared slightly at the movement, then grimaced as his softened cock slipped free.

“Ugh. Not my favourite part. One moment…” he said, crawling over to the nightstand to rummage for a few cloths. He stood, legs wobbling slightly before he locked his knees. When he felt it safe, he strode to the basin, shivering at the water that splashed him lightly as he poured from the jug. He took a breath, bracing himself, then turned.

“Dorian, be a love?”

“And the truth comes out, you just want me for my magic fingers,” the mage teased as he gestured gracefully at the basin.

In a moment, the water steamed slightly, and Cullen dunked the cloths, giving himself a perfunctory wash before moving back to the bed. He stroked the cloth over Dorian’s torso gently, cleaning him carefully of their pleasure, before moving lower, and sliding the cloth over his entrance, smirking as he hissed and arched his back at the contact.

“Mmmm… your magic fingers, your glib tongue,” he spoke in a husky tone, his eyes warming as Dorian shivered at the sound of his voice. “I can think of a great assortment of reasons and features when cataloguing why I want you, Dorian.”

Cullen tossed the soiled cloths to a basket in the corner, then cast a sly smile at his lover.

“For example, that ploy with the pastry cream earlier...”

Dorian startled, then threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, you _are_ glorious.”

He pulled his lover down to the bed, and they squirmed and shuffled about until both were comfortable, Cullen on his back, one arm wrapped around Dorian, who curled against his side with a leg thrown over his thighs.

Cullen sighed, rubbing at his neck with his free hand. Dorian quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering what he had to be nervous about now. He ran his fingers lightly over Cullen's torso, soothing him gently.

“That letter, from Josie. Only fair to let you know that it was from her, Adaar, Cassandra, and Leliana.” Dorian's fingers stilled a moment, then continued.

“And what did that diabolical group of ladies have to say? Or do I wish to know?”

“Mmm… Adaar bet the others that you would make the first move, Josie felt we'd dance around the topic but wouldn't follow through, and bloody Leliana bet that I would start things. Cassandra apparently disapproved of the betting, but waxed poetically about the romance of it all. I swear, if she talks Varric into another ghastly novel, with us as the main characters…”

Dorian bit his lip a moment, his shoulders shaking as he pressed his face to Cullen's broad chest. Cullen merely rolled his eyes and toyed with his lover's hair, waiting him out.

“We'd simply refuse to give him any details-“

“Other than the shouting half the hold could hear tonight?” Cullen teased.

“Details, unless he were to cut us in on the royalties.” He paused a moment, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “It would sell beautifully in Orlais.”

Cullen clubbed him with a pillow, then fell back with a groan, his cheeks scarlet.

“They knew… _they knew_! They sent that blasted scout to interrupt, for proof. Maker… those conniving… well, that will make those meetings awkward,” he groaned, rolling to bury his face in his pillow, his blush tinting his ears and even the back of his neck.

Dorian snuggled close again, wrapping himself around his lover.

“Yes, terribly difficult.” He leaned closed and nibbled on Cullen's ear, tracing his fingers down his back, over the myriad welts left by his nails. Cullen shivered at the touch, and turned his head to eye his lover with suspicion.

“What are you plotting, Dorian?” he accused, fighting a smile.

“I am shocked and insulted that you would even suggest such a thing, darling. I was merely wondering… curious, that is all… how sturdy that war table might be. But as to finding that out. That depends. How bad does the Commander want to be?” he breathed against Cullen's ear, his voice low and husky.

Cullen rolled his face into the pillow again, muffling his response.

“Maker's breath…”

**Author's Note:**

> Tevene to common translation guide
> 
> Kaffas = Shit  
> Fasta vass = expletive  
> Amatus = term of endearment  
> Festis bei umo canavarum = you will be the death of me.


End file.
